"Not daring to leave the dog at the gate, for it might have betrayed us, we drew him across the yard to the brewhouse, and locked the door upon him. But while doing this, Ben Gibbon passed, and thereby learnt what had happened. The next day, Barbary and I had some bickering together. I wanted to come to you and confess the truth openly; Barbary forbade it, saying it would ruin him: we could bury the dog that night or the next, he said, and nobody would ever be the wiser. In the evening, Gibbon came in; he was all for Barbary's opinion, and opposed mine. After he left, I and Barbary had a serious quarrel. I said I would leave there and then; he resented it, and followed me into the yard to try to keep me. But my temper was up, and I set off to walk to Evesham, telling him to send my traps after me, and to direct them to Euston Square Station. I took the first morning train that passed through Evesham for London, and made my mind up on the journey to go abroad for a week or two. Truth to confess," added the speaker, "I felt a bit of a coward about the dog, not knowing what proceedings you might take if it came to light, and I deemed it as well to be out of the way for a time. But I don't like being a coward, Mr. Todhetley, it is a role I have never been used to, and I came down to-day to confess all. Barbary is going away, so it will not damage him: besides, it was really I who killed the dog, not he. And now, sir, I throw myself upon your mercy. What do you say to me?" "Well, I'm sure I don't know," said the Squire, who was in a rare good humour, and liked the young fellow besides. "It was a bad thing to do--poor faithful Don! But it's Christmas-tide, so I suppose we must say no more about it. Let bygones be bygones." Edgar Reste grasped his hand. "Barbary's off to Canada, we are told," said the Squire. "A better country for him than this. He has not been thought much of in this place, as you probably know. And it's to be hoped that poor little maiden of his will get up her health again, which seems, by all accounts, to be much shattered." "I think she'll get that up now," said Mr. Reste, with a curious smile. "She is not going out with him, sir; she stays behind with me." "With you!" cried the Squire, staring. "I have just asked her to be my wife, and she says, Yes," said Mr. Reste. "An old uncle of mine over in India has died; he has left me a few hundreds a year, so that I can afford to marry." "I'm sure I am glad to hear it," said the Squire, heartily. "Poor Don, though! And what did Barbary do with him?" "Buried him in his back garden, under the summer-apple tree." Coming home from our night's work at this juncture, we found, to our surprise, a great dog fastened to the strong iron garden bench. "What a magnificent dog!" exclaimed Tod, while the mother sprang back in alarm. "It is something like Don." It was very much like Don. Quite as large, and handsomer.